Lana's Sick Day
by LoudAutomata16
Summary: A bad case of food poisoning leaves a fevered Lana sick in her bed. Luckily for her, her older brother is willing to spend the whole day by her side.


When Lincoln heard hoarse coughing coming from up the stairs, his immediate gut reaction was to flinch. Someone was sick in the Loud House? That wasn't good. That was never good. One wrong move, and he would end up sick as well. The clogged nostrils, the sore throat, the swollen eyes, the ever-changing body temperature that seemed to switch from cold to hot randomly... if there was one thing Lincoln hated, it was getting sick.

But listing all those horrible side effects of illness made his heart go out for the poor sister that was coughing up there. Lincoln shrugged his bony shoulders. "I guess checking on them for a little bit wouldn't hurt," he decided.

He followed the coughing (now accompanied by violent retching noises) up the stairs and down the hall, right to the open door of Lola and Lana's room. He peeked his head inside, a whiff of a nasty, acidic smell hitting him in the face. He gagged for a moment, before he heard someone weakly whimper his name.

"_L-Lincoln…_"

"Hey Lana," he said quietly, giving the young girl a little wave. "Are you doing okay?"

Lana Loud, sitting upright in her bed with heavy blankets covering her small body, reached to her side for a tissue. She blew her nose into it, and dropped the stained tissue into the small garbage bin at the foot of her bed. She grinned with strained effort. "J-Just toughing it out," she muttered.

Lincoln frowned sympathetically. Getting a closer look at her, Lincoln could see that she was visibly in a lot of pain and discomfort. Even underneath the blankets, Lincoln could see her chest heaving as she exhaled breaths in the form of wheezes. Her skin was sallow and sweaty, her eyes red and crusty, her nose dripping and her mouth a nasty color that Lincoln didn't even recognize. This clearly wasn't just the seasonal common cold.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"Nothing, I just got regular sick-"

"Lana."

The tomboy sighed, then coughed. "I ate something really bad," she admitted in a hushed voice, already muffled by the mucus built up in her throat. "Worse than usual. It was this piece of bread with all sorts of nasty stuff on it. I found it behind the fridge, and I ate it. And… I got sick."

She ended with a sheepish smile. The effect was spoiled when she hunched over and began to retch.

Lincoln forgot all about his former precautions as he rushed to his sister's side to put his hand gently on her back. It was searing to the touch, but Lincoln rubbed her gently, soothingly as Lana went into another fit of wheezing coughs. "Why are you here alone?" Lincoln asked. "Shouldn't someone be here taking care of you?"

"Some of our sisters offered. Lori, Leni, Lynn. But they all had really important plans and things to go to, so I made them go. I-I don't want to be a bother..."

"Lana, you're sick. Really badly sick. You're not a bother if you have someone help you out."

"Maybe," she murmured unsurely. She looked up into his eyes, hers wide and pleading like a sick puppy dog. Her lower lip trembled slightly as she asked, "Do you have any plans, Lincoln? I don't wanna hold you up either."

He was about to answer that he did, that he was planning to go to the arcade with Clyde and Stella, but quickly bit on his tongue. As much as he wanted to go to the arcade and have fun – with the added bonus of not having to worry about getting sick – he couldn't just leave Lana alone. The house was practically empty aside from him.

"Yeah, I do have plans" Lincoln told her truthfully. He went over to Lola's tea table and pulled one of the plastic chairs to set right next to Lana's bed. He smiled kindly as he took a seat by her side. "Taking care of you."

"Y-You don't have to do that..." she feebly protested.

His smile only grew wider and more caring. He reached over to her forehead and ran his fingers through the sweaty locks of blonde hair that clung to it. "I'm your brother," he murmured sweetly to her. "Let me act like one, okay? Please?"

Lana thought about it for a quick moment.

"O-Okay. Sure."

Lincoln couldn't be too sure, but he could've sworn that Lana's eyes brightened a little.

"Alright," Lincoln said. He smacked his hands together and rubbed his palms to prep himself for the long day of tending to his sick sister that he had ahead of him. "What should we-"

_ACHOO!_

Lana tried to cover her nose and mouth as she let out an earth-shattering sneeze, but the mucus and spit flew all over. She groaned, took her blanket to her nose, and rubbed the blanket into her snotty nostrils like a tissue. She turned to Lincoln to ask for a tissue, only to see a thin line of sticky ooze on his shirt. Her eyes flashed with regret. "Lincoln, I'm so sorry!" she cried like a repentant sinner.

Lincoln's face twisted into a grimace as he tugged on his orange polo. But he quickly remembered that Lana was looking at him, so he hid his disgust behind a brotherly smile. "Don't sweat it, Lans," he said with bravado. "It's just a shirt."

"I didn't mean to sneeze on it."

"I know you didn't. It's fine, really."

"Are you sure?"

It sounded like more of a whimper than a question.

Her brother reached over, pulled off her red cap, and patted her dirty blonde hair. "I'm sure. So, seriously, Lana, just stop worrying about stuff. It's not going to help your health, you know."

She coughed into her balled fist, then smiled and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you're right, bro. You're always right about stuff," she murmured. Her body shook from side to side and she snuggled herself into bed, and dug the back of her head into her pillow. Her eyelids, heavy and dark, began to droop. They fluttered as she futilely tried to stay awake, but eventually close tight as she gave in.

The side of Lincoln's mouth curled upwards fondly. His sister's soft snoring reminded him how much of a little angel she could be. When she wasn't brawling with Lola or throwing frogs at his face, at least.

Speaking of Lola, as Lincoln went back to his room momentarily to change into a clean shirt and grab a half-full box of tissues from his bedside drawer ("I definitely need this more in her room than mine"), he paused to whip out his phone and dial her number with his thumb. Planting the phone on his cheek, he waited patiently for her to answer.

"Hello?" came Lola's pinched voice when she finally picked up her phone.

"Hey Lola, it's Lincoln. Did you know that Lana's sick today?"

"What? Lana's sick? What happened?"

"Apparently she ate something really bad-"

He heard her snort derisively on the side. _Of course she did_, he could almost hear her say.

"-and she got a fever and food poisoning and stuff."

"Aww, poor Lana. And poor me. Where am I supposed to sleep tonight? I don't wanna sleep with her and end up sick!"

The eleven year old rolled his eyes. "Your twin sister is vomiting up her guts, and all you care about is where you're going to sleep?"

"Eww, she's vomiting too? But okay, fair point Linky." She paused. Lincoln could hear a faint humming coming through the receiver, as if she were mulling something over. Then he heard her say "Aha," before continuing with, "Okay, listen close, Linky, because I'm only saying this once. I need to get back to ballet practice or Mrs. Brigsby will get mad at me again, which everyone knows she only does because she's mad that Brad broke up with her and she's taking it out on us-"

"Lola," Lincoln said testingly, "can we please get back on topic?"

"Oh, right. I totally need to stop spilling tea like I do. Anyway, while Lana usually eats all kinds of icky stuff and gets away with it, sometimes she eats something way too bad. Like, the kind of stuff even a hyena would avoid. And since something bad goes in, something good needs to go in as well. See where I'm going with this?"

"Uhh… not really."

An exasperated sigh echoed from Lola's side of the phone. "Make her some soup. That's what Mom and Lori usually do."

"Soup? That's it?"

"She's a sick girl, honey, what are you expecting? '_To cure Lana Loud, you must climb up the Cloudy Mountains and bring her a flower that only sprouts every one thousand years,_'" Lola mocked in pseudo-shaman tone.

"Yeah, thanks Lola. I'm hanging up now."

"You better fix her, Lincoln. I can't sleep in my own room if I'm going to breathe in sick all night!"

The call ended, and Lincoln felt himself frown. Lola had told him to make soup, which would be fine if it wasn't for the teensy little fact that he had never made soup before. He knew some of the basics from the times he caught glimpses of his father working in the kitchen: there was supposed to be a big pot of boiling water, and some soup powder from the store… unless he was supposed to make it completely by himself, which meant… truffles?

"I think Dad has a few recipes in one of the drawers. I'll go check."

He made a start to rush down the hall to the stairs, but was quickly stopped in his tracks when he heard a guttural cough from Lana's room. He peered back in to see the sleeping tomboy tossing and turning in bed. Her frame shivered, her developing teeth chattered, and she moaned in discomfort. Sympathy filled her older brother's chest, and he hated himself for not being able to have an instant magic cure for her. Instead, he did the next best thing: he grabbed a thin green blanket from his own room and spread it over Lana.

He was glad to see that made her smile.

"'_Anks, Linc..._"

"You're welcome, Lans," he whispered. He knelt down and kissed her burning forehead, hoping that she could somehow feel it in her slumber.

Descending down the stairs and heading straight for the kitchen, Lincoln glanced around until he spied his father's recipe drawer. Little bits of paper poked out like the whole thing was just waiting to burst and spill. He was almost hesitant to actually open it, but he steeled himself. "Do it for the soup. Bowl for the soup."

Lincoln approached the recipe drawer, and all he had to do was put one careless finger on it…

The drawer shot out and hit him in the stomach. The young man cried out as he fell on the ground, his butt smacking painfully against the tiles. Pieces of inked paper spilled around him like a snowy avalanche. He groaned as he rubbed his rump, and picked up one of the slips of paper that had fallen on his knee.

"Oh, this one's a recipe for soup. What a coincidence."

He picked himself back up and prepared a large pot for the stove.

This was gonna be easy!

* * *

_Dang, my mouth tastes worse than usual._

Her eyelids fluttered open with some effort. Lana could feel some gunk on her eyes, spreading even to her lashes and practically gluing them together, but she didn't find the energy to take her hands from underneath the covers to wipe her eyes. If even a hint of her skin was exposed to the cold air swirling around her, her entire body would tremble like she was possessed.

_Cold air? Oh no, what about my pets?_

Despite all protests from her body to stay still, Lana cocked her head to the right to check on her pets. Hops, El Diablo, her new, nameless snapping turtle… they were all cold-blooded creatures. If the cold was bothering her this much, then she couldn't imagine how hypothermic they must've been feeling.

She caught glimpses of her snake El Diablo, slithering carelessly over the ground. He didn't look like he was bothered by the cold.

"Which means it's not the room that's cold... it's just me," Lana realized, and just in time for her next bout of shivering.

It wasn't fair. Her ears were burning, how come the rest of her body wasn't? If only, Lana thought, there was some way she could feel a little warm again…

As if summoned by her needful thoughts, Lincoln entered her room with a bowl in his hands. It was a white ceramic bowl that Lana immediately recognized as the soup bowl. A thin metal spoon poked out on one side, and vaporous steam rose from the center of the bowl to fill the room with the aroma of store-brand herbs.

"Brought you some soup," Lincoln said proudly, presenting Lana with the bowl. The girl peered at the brownish yellow liquid, dotted with flecks of red and green vegetation. She licked her chapped lips; soup wasn't even close to a favorite food, but right now it looked like the meal of the gods.

"No chicken noodle?" she asked.

"I… tried to make chicken. It didn't really… work out..."

That was when Lana noticed the soot marks on his fingers… and the burns on both of his arms.

She gasped. "Lincoln… did you hurt yourself?"

"Don't worry about it." He grinned weakly at her. Sitting down in the chair, he handed her the bowl. Their fingers brushed as they exchanged the soup, and Lincoln frowned when he noticed how cold and clammy her fingers felt. _Hopefully the soup will help with that, _he thought.

It did help a little. Just holding the bowl in her hands made her feel better. The heat that radiated from it spread through her hands and arms. She sighed with a sense of relief. And even though she couldn't breathe much through her nose, she held it up to her face to let the steam waft into her clogged nostrils. Maybe she was imagining it, but she felt her the buildup clear a little.

"Thanks Lincoln," she said with such warm appreciation that Lincoln forgot the stinging pain from the burns in his arms. He reached over and patted her messy head, and told her to eat up. Lana nodded, eagerly grabbing the spoon… then stopped to look back at her big brother. "Um, Lincoln?"

"What is it?"

"If i-it's not too much to ask… well, I wanna keep my hands under the blanket, so can you, um, feed me?"

She looked away from him as she made her request. Her cheeks burned red, and something told Lincoln it wasn't just the fever. Lana was a girl who, even when sick, wanted to seem tough. Asking someone – especially her older brother – to literally spoon-feed her couldn't have been easy.

Luckily for her, Lincoln took her request with grace. He gave her a short nod, took the bowl back from her, and picked up the spoon to lift it out of the brothy depths. He held it up over the bowl, watching drops of soup fall back into the original source until Lana leaned over and took it in her mouth. The girl's blue eyes widened as she felt the soup on her dry tongue; this was the first real flavor she had all day, and what a rich flavor it was! So delicious, so warm~ And it had the added benefit of smoothing over her sore throat as it washed down her neck, allowing for a throaty _mmmmmmm _to flow from her.

And just as she had finished drinking it down, there was Lincoln with a smile and another spoonful of stew for her.

Before either of them even realized it, they had finished the entire batch. Lincoln's spoon scraped uselessly at the bottom of the bowl, and Lana chuckled. "I guess I'm a fast eater," she commented.

"I've seen faster," he teased. "The record will always be Lynn with those nine slices of shrimp pizza."

"Pssh. I can beat that."

"Maybe one day. When you're all rested up."

"Nuh uh. I can… I can..."

Lana stopped, clamping down on her mouth. Her hands flew to her stomach, which growled loudly enough for Lincoln to hear. When her face suddenly shifted to a nasty shade of green, Lincoln instantly figured out what was going to happen. With seconds to spare, he lunged for the garbage bin by his feet and gave it to Lana as she put her face in it and…

A nasty, loud, squelching burp echoed through the room as Lana began to vomit. She shuddered and gasped the entire time, and there was little Lincoln could do except whisper, "_It'll be okay, it'll be okay,_" soothingly to her.

When she finished, she dropped the bin. Her eyes were wide with sorrow when she looked back at her brother. "I'm sorry," she said. "I… I threw up your whole soup."

"Don't be sorry, it's your body, not you."

"B-But you worked so hard on it..."

"Lana," he said firmly, holding up his hand. "It's fine. Don't be sorry."

She didn't seem to think it was fine. She threw herself back into her pillow, and frowned heavily. Glancing back over to her brother, Lincoln was happy to see the green fading from her face, but was still troubled by what he just saw. She couldn't even eat soup? That wasn't a good sign.

"Lincoln," he heard her say, "am I going to die?"

"No. You're not going to die," he comforted. His hand brushed over her face again, fingers dancing delicately above her forehead. "You're just going to need to make sure you eat better from now on," he added with a chuckle. Even Lana laughed faintly, though whether it was his joke or his hand tickling her as it threaded through her hair, Lincoln wasn't quite sure.

After some time passed, with his fingers running through her blonde hair, he opened his mouth to say something else, but when he saw that Lana had passed out, her eyes closed and ragged breaths flowing from her, he quickly shut it.

He stood up from his chair. He needed to get some more water and wet wipes.

* * *

They spent the rest of the afternoon together, not doing much. Lana would randomly fall in and out of consciousness, but every time she woke up with a frightened start, she would find her brother sitting by her side, immovable and patient. He'd give her a warm smile, replace the cold wipe on her forehead, and they'd talk for a while before she went back to napping. Sometimes, she didn't want to talk. Sometimes all she wanted was to hold her brother's hand as she drifted back into unconsciousness. Whenever she slept, Lincoln would take the opportunity to do the menial chores Lana couldn't do herself: replace the trash bags, bring more tissues, the like.

He also did it for some fresh air. Give him a break, it's not easy to be a young kid breathing in another young kid's pestilence.

Despite the occasion difficulties, and all the things he knew he was missing out, he found himself unwilling to leave her side until she got better. Even with his sisters returning home one by one, and Lori and Leni and Luna offering to take his place, he refused. "I can take care of her," he insisted to each one of them, "so don't worry about it." They all relented eventually and went off to do their own things, each one leaving with pride in their eyes.

_Took him a while, _thought Lori as she descended down the stairs, _but I think he's finally learning some responsibility. _

Eventually, night fell upon them. Lola had made it very clear that she didn't want to sleep in the same room as a sick Lana, and while the tomboy completely understood, she couldn't hide the pangs of hurt she felt.

"Are you gonna leave too?" she asked her brother.

Lincoln rubbed his chin, thinking about it for a moment… then shook his head. "I'm fine right here," he said.

"No, Lincoln," muttered Lana, "you've been with me all day. You're gonna get sick too if you don't leave."

_I think it's too late to worry about that, _Lincoln thought. He had been feeling a little light-headed and sweaty for a while, but there was no way he was going to tell her that. He was many things, but guilt-trippy wasn't one of them (well… not all of the time, at least). So he protested a little. "I don't think you should be alone, Lans."

"Well, maybe Mom or Dad will check in on me."

"They're out of town, Lana, you know that."

"Right. Forgot." She tapped on her temple and offered a sheepish grin. "So, uh, if you're gonna stay with me… can you read me a story before bed? Mom always reads to me."

A sense of nostalgia washed over him like a tidal wave. He was reminded of the memory of one late night, when he was around Lana's age, when he had begged his mother to read from a book of fairy tales. She had agreed, but by the time she had brought him to bed and started reading the story of Jack and the Beanstalk, six-year-old Lincoln was too tired to listen and promptly fell asleep. His mother still joked about that from time to time, much to his own chagrin.

Taking a small book from Lana's small personal library, he couldn't help but feel like he was stepping into that role; maturing in his own way. He felt pride blossom in his heart like… a blossom. _Maybe that's why I wanted to take care of Lana so badly, _he thought. _Maybe I'm just proving to myself that I'm mature now. I want show everyone that I can take care of my sister without losing her in the mall or abandoning her to go hang out with my friends or something else like that._

But when he sat back down in his chair, and looked up from his book momentarily to see the enthusiastic light in Lana's eyes, he came to a second realization:

_Nah. I just wanted to take care of her._

And with that, he thumbed open the book and began to read:

"Section 1: Getting Started with Your Automobile. This workshop manual was based on a through reverse-engineering and tearing down of a Chrysler Dodge Jeep model..."

Fifteen minutes later, Lana had fallen soundly asleep. Still, Lincoln kept reading from the manual. Oddly enough for a sick girl, Lana had a wide smile on her face, and in her sleep she barely coughed or sneezed or even wheezed. It was probably a sign that she was getting better, that her body had finally kicked into high gear for fighting the microbes, but Lincoln liked to think that it was his reading that gave her comfort.

He may not have been too wrong about that, either...

* * *

Around midnight, a short silhouette dashed through the hall on silent toes. It approached the twins' room, finding both a slumbering Lana and a snoring Lincoln by her bedside, his cheek pressed on the wall while a thin ribbon of silvery drool dripped from his open mouth.

"Ew, gross."

The figure made its way into Lola's empty bed. In a swift, clean motion, it removed the blanket and slipped under the pink covers.

"Ahh," sighed Lola Loud as she took her mattressy throne.

She glanced at the reader behind the fourth wall. "What? I changed my mind, okay? I figured that a princess should never abandon her subjects, especially during times of plague and… whatever, I don't need to justify myself to you losers."

She turned on her side, away from the readers, and smilingly fell asleep.


End file.
